


After

by some_nights



Series: Summer Loves [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 10:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14018733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_nights/pseuds/some_nights
Summary: Eight years later, Arthur suddenly reappears in Eames's life.





	After

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Before](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230480). It _can_ be read separately, but I would advise against it.

Eames knew exactly when he had started keeping people at arm's length, hiding his broken heart behind a fake smile and never going beyond small talk in any conversation. He also remembered when his broken heart had evolved into a lonely one. What he didn’t know, however, was when the walls he'd build around it became so high he couldn't tear them down if he wanted to. When had he stopped being able to connect with people on any emotional level? Sometimes he lay awake at night and thought about that. But mostly he tried to ignore it. He also tried to ignore the loneliness that was sitting in the pit of his stomach, sometimes spreading through his whole body until he ached to cry in someone’s - anyone’s - arms. On days like that, Eames was more friendly, had an even brighter smile. He had become a master of deception. And the only people who might have been able to see through it were not in his life anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time. And never would be again.  
He was least lonely at work, because at least he had something to occupy his mind with. Even if that “something” was waiting backstage while Julian messed up his line for the tenth time.  
“Julian, no matter what you say now, we’ll just carry on, okay? We don’t have time for this bullshit”, Yusuf said now.  
“But Yusuf, if you just gave me my line…”  
“Julian, I’ve given you ten lines in the last scene alone. We can’t keep stopping like this. Yes, it is important to me that you portray my masterpiece word for word, but you do know that you can’t stop during the show and ask for your line, right?”  
Julina nodded.  
“Good.” Yusuf said, “Good. Now, scene 30 again! And no matter what happens, just carry on. I want to wrap this thing up.”

They did wrap it up, but it was the worst rehearsal they’d ever had. For the last few scenes, Yusuf had appointed Julian’s understudy and things had gone slightly better, but still not good. If the old theatre superstition was to be believed, the premier tomorrow would be a blast.  
Eames was making his way to the train station, when Lisa, another actor, called out for him to wait. Eames considered for a second to pretend he hadn't heard her, but in the end, he slowed down his steps so she could catch up with him. Lisa was pleasant enough to talk to and she was one of the few people who hugged Eames, which was always appreciated by his touch starved soul.  
“Are you coming to the after party tomorrow?”, Lisa asked.  
Eames chuckled. “When have I ever missed a party, love?”  
Lisa giggled. Eames had the theory that she might have a crush on him. He wouldn't blame her if she did, he was charming, good-looking and just the right amount of cocky. Not even to mention that he was an absolutely astounding actor. Of course he could be a little arrogant at times, but for most that wasn't a turn-off. He had contemplated starting something with her, but as long as they worked together, it was a bad idea. Maybe a quick shag after the last night, Eames thought.  
Lisa was chatting on about something and Eames pretended to be listening. When they reached the train station, Eames said: “Sadly, I must part from you now, but don't despair; in the lights of the stages we shall see each other soon.”  
Lisa giggled again and said: “Bye, Eames. Don't be late tomorrow or Yusuf is gonna kill you.”  
Eames tipped his non-existent hat and went on the train. He breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally alone again. The thing about being lonely in company was that at first, the company was able to distract you, seemingly filling the hole in your heart. But after some time, you realised that you didn't fit in, were disconnected, outside of it all, and from then on, every second spent pretending was exhausting. The instant Eames left the theatre, he was in “alone mode”, taking comfort in the hollow but familiar feeling in his chest.  
He could have walked home, but that would have meant more time with Lisa and even though she was a doll, there was only so much Eames could take.  
He listened to music until he got home, where he went straight to bed. He lay awake in the darkness, lonely and alone, and tried to keep the ghosts of his past at bay until sleep finally claimed him. Eames couldn't keep them from his dreams. 

Opening night was a blast. Everything went perfectly. As Eames stood on stage, receiving the applause, all he felt was happiness. The smile on his face was one of the rare real ones. And as he bowed with his fellow actors, he felt their happiness too.  
The happiness lasted longer than the comradery, but nonetheless, at the after party, Eames was in love with life. It wasn't as much a party as it was an open bar for crew and performers at the theatre while the audience showered them with praise. A few years ago, an open bar would have been Eames’s personal nightmare, but now he could manage. He was just ordering another soda, looking over the party, when someone behind him said: “Still sober I see.”  
The voice was a dagger through his heart. Eames felt like falling, overwhelmed with so many feelings at once. Hate. Confusion. Lust. Bitterness. Hurt. Love. He shoved them all down and turned around with a smile that was more fake than a politician’s promise.  
“Arthur! What a pleasure to see you! I see you’ve finally grown the beard you've always wanted?”  
Eames’s voice was probably diabetes inducing, laced with so much sweetness it left a bad taste in his mouth.  
“The beard is an experiment”, Arthur said. He talked to Eames as he would talk to a waiter, friendly, but with an obvious professional distance. “It has been a while.”  
It had been a while. Eight years to be exact. Eames wanted to confront him right there and then. Instead, he asked: “So how are things going? Still working with Dom?”  
“We haven't worked together in years”, Arthur said, the ‘You should know that.’ only implied. “But yes, we are still working at the same university. Even Stephen is there now, he's the head of the department.”  
“Wow, really? And Dom gets along with him? They used to despise each other!”  
Eames felt sick.  
“They have been getting along better since… Mal.” Arthur’s smile was no longer a waiter smile, but a strained smile that almost screamed ‘I don't want to be in this situation, I don't want to talk to you, but politeness demands it.’ Arthur was nothing if not polite.  
“It has been eight years now, hasn't it?”, Eames asked, even though he knew the answer.  
“Almost, yes. But enough about me. I see you are still acting? I was surprised to see you on stage, I thought you only did movies.”  
That was obviously a lie. Arthur was one of the most organised people Eames knew. He would never see a play without checking the cast list beforehand, maybe even researching the cast members’ career path. But Eames decided to play along.  
“Yusuf asked me if I would consider a return to the stage for him, told me he had written Gregory for me and couldn't imagine anyone else playing him. And because I didn't have any movies lined up, I said yes.”  
“You were wonderful”, Arthur said with a sincerity that made Eames’s smile waver for a second.  
He caught himself and said: “Thank you, Arthur. Now that I have your ever so sought after praise, I can finally call myself a credible actor. Oh wait, those don't exist. I must have forgotten for a second.”  
Eames felt bad for the flash of hurt on Arthur’s face. But not bad enough to let him speak when he started: “Eames-”  
“I'm sorry, Arthur, but I should entertain the other guests too. After all, that's what I am. A simple entertainer.”  
With that, Eames grabbed his soda and walked into the crowd, leaving a hurt Arthur behind. It's for the best.  
Eames spent the remainder of the evening avoiding Arthur. He talked to other audience members, laughed at their jokes. Thanks to Arthur, it was all a play again, a farce. It was breaching midnight when the first people finally started to leave.  
It was also then that Lisa playfully bumped her elbow into Eames’s side and said: “You know there's a hottie staring at you, right?”  
“Tall, glasses, beard?” Eames asked. Lisa nodded and Eames sighed. “I know.”  
“He doesn't look like he wants to undress you though. More like he wants to hold you in his arms and have a cry fest. And then undress you. Where do you know him from?”  
“What makes you think I know him?”, Eames asked a little defensively.  
“Dude”, Lisa said. “No one on earth looks at a stranger that way. So, spill the beans. What's the deal with you two?”  
Eames sighed again. He knew Lisa loved her gossip and she probably wouldn't just leave it alone.  
“We had a thing some time ago, it ended badly and we haven't spoken ever since.”  
Eames rubbed his nose. He was getting tired.  
“And I would really appreciate if you wouldn't go meddling or telling anyone, okay?”  
Lisa shrugged. “Who would I even tell?”  
“Lisa. You are the gossip mill.”  
She laughed and playfully boxed Eames’s arm. “Don't say that, I know how to keep a secret! I mean, you probably didn't know that Julian faked his references to get this job and I've known that one for months.”  
Eames couldn't even muster up an answer, he just looked at her and left.  
“Yusuf, I'll head out now”, he said. Yusuf, who was currently in a conversation with the theatre's owner Mr. Saito, just nodded and waved Eames off.

In May, the night air was still cold enough to be refreshing. Eames breathed in and out, feeling part of his exhaustion slipping away. He was alone again. Finally.  
When Eames was told to wait up this time, he didn't slow down. He also didn't go faster, he was not that petty. He just continued on, not even acknowledging Arthur running up beside him.  
“Eames, I wanted to talk to you-”  
“There is nothing to talk about”, Eames said sharply. No need for pretend friendliness out her in the harsh night.  
“Eames, I am sorry-”  
“So am I, Arthur, but we can't change the past. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to take the train.”  
“The train doesn't go till 4 am tomorrow. So unless you want to wait for hours on a dark platform, you either have to walk or get a taxi.”  
Fucking Arthur. Why did he always have to know everything?  
“Well, either way, I don't want to talk to you.”  
“Eames-”  
“I suggest you get your ears checked, because I clearly said I don't want to talk to you.”  
Eames knew he was being harsh. And even though he was not looking at Arthur he knew his words hurt him. But Eames didn't care. He just wanted to get away.  
“I miss you”, Arthur said. That made Eames stop.  
He turned around to face Arthur, who looked completely and utterly beaten. Eames felt like kicking a puppy when his next words left his mouth: “How dare you, Arthur. How dare you come to the opening night of my show just so you can talk to me - and don't pretend that wasn't the reason. How dare you come back into my life and expect me to forgive you for all the things you've said and done? You don't get to miss me. You were the one who left. ‘I miss you.’ Fuck. I miss you too, but that doesn't mean I forgive you. Fuck you, Arthur.”  
After that, Eames walked away. Arthur didn't follow him this time. 

Three days. That's how long Eames kept his anger, fuming, always bubbling right under the surface. He thought it might subside by itself. It didn't.  
“It's because of tall handsome, isn't it?”, Lisa asked. Eames didn't even answer her, he just glowered.  
“Do something about it. Go to him and tell him to get out of your life. Yell at him. You'll feel better afterwards. And won't be such a pain to work with.”  
Eames made a non-committal sound. It wasn't that he hadn't thought about confronting Arthur - he knew where the man worked and probably where he lived. It was just that Eames had no idea what to say besides what already had been said. There was also the fact that, as much as he wanted to hurt Arthur, to pay him back for all the hurt he'd caused Eames, part of Eames wanted to forget it all and just let Arthur back into his life. That was probably the main reason he was that angry. Not only at Arthur, but also at himself. For being that weak.

The next day was a Wednesday and Eames was still angry. There was no show that day, so he had a whole day to beat. First, he cooked himself a nice breakfast. Only that cooking reminded him of Arthur and what a disaster he was in the kitchen. How much he loved Eames cooking. Eames shook his head. How dare that condescending snob just turn up out of nowhere and weasel his way back into his head?  
Running didn't help either, even though Eames went twice as far as usual. I miss you, he'd said. Such bullshit. If Arthur had missed Eames, why the fuck had he waited eight fucking years? I miss you. And he'd ruined the best night Eames had had in ages. I miss you. Asshole.  
At home, Eames took a scalding hot shower before angrily washing the dishes. He almost broke his favourite mug by putting it down too forcefully. That was when he made a decision. It was a bad decision, as bad as they come. Part of Eames knew that. But that part was drowned in the anger sweeping through every other part of his body. So he went out, slammed the door and made his way to the university.

When he reached the all too familiar complex, Eames wasn't as angry anymore. It had been almost ten years since he'd set foot on the campus. Shadows of the past wanted to overtake his mind, creeping in like the feeling of dread that made his throat close up. Eames pushed both down and held on to the anger still flickering inside him.  
The mathematical science building still looked like before. The Greek inscription above translated to “We will know”. Even without looking up, Eames could see it. He couldn't count the hours he'd spent on the steps of that building, sometimes alone, sometimes with Cobb or Mal, waiting for Arthur to finish whatever he was doing at the time. Eames pushed the image aside forcefully. Angry. He was angry at Arthur. That was the reason he was there. Anger.  
It wasn't that hard to find Arthur's office, it was in the same hallway as the office from his doctorate days. Just that now, Arthur had the one at the end of the hallway, a whole big office all for himself.  
When Eames stood in front of the door, He fully realised what a bad idea this has been. His anger had abandoned him and all that was left was dread, nostalgia and longing.  
The plaque next to the door said Arthur’s office hours were from ten to eleven. Eames checked his watch. It was 11.15 now. Fate had been kind enough to spare him from following through with his rash and anger fueled decision. Eames gave out a sigh of relief, when the door to opened and Arthur said: “Just remember to return it to me by next week, but I think you will find it's just what you need.”  
“Thank you, professor”, the student said and ran off.  
“I'm sorry, but my office hours- Eames! What are you doing here?”  
Fuck fate.  
“I… Uhm…”  
Eames scratched his head. He was asking himself the same thing.  
“Just come in. It's more private than in the corridor.”  
Eames followed Arthur into his office, wrecking his brain about what to say.  
“So”, Arthur said, leaning on his desk. Eames beat the part of his brain with a stick that thought he looked very sexy. “Why are you here? I thought I'd never see you again.”  
Eames shrugged and looked at the floor. “I came here to give you a piece of my mind”, he said. “Just that my mind seems to have wandered off.”  
Arthur laughed. Eames had forgotten what a wondrous sound that was. Then he said seriously: “Well, I am glad to see you. I want to apologise. You were right. It wasn't very appropriate for me to just show up like that. But when I saw your name on the program, I had my ticket before I could even think about it.”  
“You? Doing something spontaneous? Arthur, you never cease to surprise me”, Eames smirked.  
Why was he smirking? Was he flirting? One hour ago, he would have rather swallowed nails than flirt with Arthur. But here he was, playing his best charm.  
“What can I say, Mr. Eames. You bring out sides in me I never knew existed.”  
One smile and one “Mr. Eames”. That was all it took for Eames to feel like the past eight years had never happened. They were smiling at each other, looking into each other's eyes. Eames cautiously stepped closer towards Arthur, whose smile slowly turned into a smirk.  
When Eames reached him, Arthur took his right hand. Eames felt the touch throughout his whole body. He looked down at their intertwined hands and then looked at Arthur again. They both leaned forward, Eames closed his eyes just before their lips touched. It felt just like their first kiss, even though it didn’t taste like chicken this time around. Eames reached his free hand to gently stroke Arthur's cheek and let out a small giggle. Arthur pulled back and looked at him confused.  
“What's so funny?”, he asked.  
“Your stubble”, Eames said. “I was just thinking how this felt like our first kiss and then you have that stubble.”  
“I mean, you could always put your hand in my hair if the beard distracts you”, Arthur said with a playful gleam in his eyes.  
Eames did just that, he put his hand on the back of Arthur's head and pulled him down so their mouths met again. Arthur used his free hand to pull Eames closer and Eames let out a small hum of approval. He slightly pulled Arthur's hair and the brunet couldn't help a moan. Arthur's hand was wandering, from between Eames’s shoulders to his lower back to-  
“Arthur, I- What the fuck?”  
They didn't exactly jolt apart, Eames just turned half around to look at whoever interrupted them.  
“Eames?”  
“Cobb”, Eames said with a nod.  
“Did you want anything?”, Arthur asked.  
“That can wait. You are… clearly busy.”  
Dom closed the door again under confused muttering.  
Eames couldn't help the small giggle that escaped him. The whole situation was ridiculous. He got caught snogging Arthur. By Dom Cobb. Who he had last seen at a funeral.  
“Now”, Arthur said with a smile that made Eames’s stomach flutter. “Where were we?”  
“I think”, Eames said, teasingly playing with Arthur's hair. “You were just about to put your hand on my-”  
“Eames. Stop talking.”  
Eames happily obliged and didn't talk for a long while.

When Eames left the campus, he felt like a flying fish, soaring through water and air at an exhilarating speed with incredible ease. But then, as if an albatross had snatched him mid-flight, reality set in. They shouldn't have done that. There was too much to talk about, too many harboured feelings. Last time, they'd let them linger, let them grow under the surface, slowly gnawing at the foundation of their relationship, until it all had collapsed. And it had left Eames completely broken.  
The last eight years hadn't been pretty. They'd been hard and lonely. He couldn’t just erase that, as much as he wanted to. Now that he’d had moments of true company, moments with the person he’d secretly longed for, being alone felt heavier. It felt more like a broken heart again than like a lonely one.  
More than anything in the world, Eames wished he had somebody to talk to. Anyone. But Eames had no one. He was all alone. Just like before.  
Back home, Eames lay down on the couch and turned on the TV. He zapped through the channels, not even letting the sound load before changing again. His thoughts were drifting, to Arthur. To beer. To work. To tequila shots. To Cobb. To wine. To sex. To Gin. Eames was too tired to keep the thoughts about alcohol out, keep them locked up like he usually did. He was barely strong enough to endure them passively, not to act on them. It would be so easy to just grab his wallet. Put on his shoes. Go to the nearest liquor store. Buying something.  
But doing none of that was better. Going to bed was better. Crying himself to sleep was better.  
Eames felt worse.

He woke up at 3:30 am, heavy, bound down. Despite the heaviness, his body was antsy and Eames knew sleep would evade him. And even if it were to come back, if Eames were to fall asleep again, he would dream. Eames didn't want to dream. So he got up and tried to watch TV, but the sound was too much, the colours too bright for his sleep-deprived mind. He turned it off and tried to read a book. He had to read every sentence at least twice before it made any sense. The longer he sat around, the more stifled he felt. His flat was suffocating.  
Eames decided to go for a run. The harsh night air cleared his head a little. When he passed a 24/7 liquor store, he was glad he'd left his wallet at home. 

When he reached the park, all Eames concentrated on was the rhythm of his steps and his breath. He could hear another jogger approach on the gravel but didn’t pay any attention to them. He just jogged and thought of nothing.  
When he passed a hill, he decided to take a little stretching break and watch the sunset before heading home. Again, the other jogger passed him and this time, Eames waved at him. Wait. Was that…?  
“I thought it was you!”, Cobb said. “First I don’t see you for years and now twice in two days! What are the odds!”  
So much for inner peace.  
Eames molded his face into a smile and said: “Yeah, what are the odds. Also out for a morning run?”  
“Oh, I run here almost every day. First time seeing you though. Funny how we never bumped into each other.”  
“I’m more of an evening runner myself. After a long day of work, there’s nothing better to clear my head and come back to myself.”  
Also, Eames had known Cobb was more of a morning person. He’d adjusted his habits accordingly to avoid the man.  
“But it is beautiful”, Eames said, looking at the horizon where the first inch of the sun was peeking to see if it was her time yet. “Watching the world wake up.”  
Cobb nodded. “It’s one of my favourite parts of running so early. You get to see a part of the world not many people see.”  
They stood in peaceful silence for a while, just watching as the sun crept up and the street lights were turned off. Eames realised that, even though Cobb was an old friend, they were now practically strangers. The last time they’d seen each other, Cobb had been grieving the loss of his wife. Since then, eight years had passed. Eames didn’t know Cobb anymore, had no idea how Mal’s death had changed the man or what his life looked like now.  
“I was surprised to see you yesterday”, Cobb said. Eames didn't respond, but he felt a blush creep up his neck as he remembered how exactly Cobb had seen him.  
“Arthur seemed very happy when he came home, so that's good.”  
When he came home. They lived together.  
“He became less happy when he tried to call you.”  
Eames shrugged. “Changed my number.”  
“Thought so”, Cobb nodded.  
Again, they stood in silence, a silence that was daring to be filled. Cobb wanted Eames to say something, to ask something. Eames felt slightly triumphant when it was Cobb who spoke first: “It wasn't his fault, you know? That he left you.”  
“Are you saying it was mine?” Eames didn't even pretend not to be angry.  
“No, I’m not.”  
The unasked question hung heavy in the air. Eames was too stubborn to voice it and set his jaw.  
Cobb sighed. “This is a conversation you should be having with Arthur. And you definitely should talk about it next time. Before anything happens. I don't want either of you to get hurt again.”  
Cobb didn't give Eames the time to respond. He just jogged away. 

Eames didn’t manage to get back into his running trance after that. He still felt better than when he’d left his flat. There were still some hours left before he had to leave for the theatre.  
Eames decided to make a hearty breakfast. It would give him time to clear his head and he’d have a great meal.  
It wasn’t his fault, Cobb had said. Whose fault was it, then? Eames hadn’t asked that question in years. After Arthur had left, Eames had fallen. Deep. The bottle had been his only friend and it had gotten so bad that it affected his acting ability. That was when he had started to claw his way back up, again. He was better now, pretty good even. Lonely, sure. But at least now he remembered every weekend and didn’t wake up in a stranger’s apartment without any money or an ounce of an idea how he’d gotten there. Eames was doing better. Last night had been bad, but he should be proud of himself. He’d done the right thing. He just had to keep away from Arthur, concentrate on his work and everything would be fine.

Eames learned that old scars, reopened, hurt worse than new wounds, because on top of the present pain, there was also an echo of the pain once felt. He tried to get back on track, spend his days like he usually did, threw himself into each performance, the few wonderful hours where he didn't have to be himself, where he could just be Gregory. He even went for a coffee with Lisa. But the whole time, he felt as if someone was hollowing him out with a plastic spoon, painfully scraping parts of him away until there would be nothing left but an empty shell. Thoughts about Arthur plagued him, at the best of times they were fueled by rage. At the worst of times, the longing in his veins was a fire, hot and painful.  
Others noticed, of course. Yussuf asked Eames if they should look for a replacement. Lisa wanted to talk with him - really talk with him - so he would feel better afterwards. But Eames couldn't. Because after having a real connection again, even if it had just been a few hours, what he had with his colleagues felt even less real. Eames was alone, in a bubble. That bubble kept him from connecting with anyone else, mulling sound and making everything seem fake. At the same time, he became hyper-aware of his actions, his every breath a little storm and thunder in his ears. He'd have given almost everything to mull his senses, at least a little. Almost.  
As the days went on, Eames grew scared, scared because with every scoop the plastic spoon inside him took, the “almost” part of him shrunk, with every painful day, with every concerned look or touch by those who didn't really matter, Eames came closer to breaking.

The first thing Eames noticed was the new curtain. This one was bright red and certainly an eye-catcher. The one before had been less conspicuous, a zick-zack pattern in wine red and mahogany running through it. Eames couldn't count the hours he'd spent tracing that pattern with his eyes, at times exhausted, shaking from withdrawal. The darker the room had been, the harder it had been to discern anything, but the better it had served as a distraction. And now that curtain was gone. Aside from that, not much had changed since Eames had been there last, the same chairs were arranged in a circle, two desks were arranged as a snack station. He hadn’t thought he'd ever come back. But there he was. Sitting in a circle with other people, some strangers, some familiar.  
“Does anybody want to share something?”, Cillian asked and even that was exactly the same as Eames remembered.  
Some people raised their hands, and Eames did so too. Cillian nodded. “Okay, let's go around clockwise, shall we?”  
That meant Eames would be the last one to speak. He knew he should listen, but he couldn't pretend to care about strangers. Didn't have enough energy for it. He didn't want these strangers to care for him either. He just needed someone to talk to. And maybe a hug.  
Even though Eames didn't listen, he watched as the others told their stories. People watching was better than curtain watching. One woman reminded him of Mal. Not the way she looked, but her mannerisms. She held herself a similar way and had the grace of a dancer with thunder underneath. When she'd finished talking, Eames kept watching her as she listened to the others. If she'd been a dog, he was pretty sure her ears would be perked up in curiosity and attentiveness. Eames was still staring at her when her attention wandered to him. She smiled at him and Eames felt like he'd seen a ghost.  
“Eames? Do you still want to share?”, Cillian asked.  
Eames nodded and cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from the woman who had so much of Mal.  
“I didn't think I would ever come here again. I've been sober for six years now. Well, sober again. It started in college, then it got better afterwards and then my boyfriend left me.”  
Eames realised it was the first time he'd ever called Arthur his boyfriend. He tried not to dwell on that.  
“We had a pretty big fight, I stormed out and then I didn't see him for almost eight years. Until the other week, he came to the opening night of my play. Things happened and now I'm at a point where the only thing keeping me from the bottle is the knowledge of how bad it would become. How hard I've worked to get to this point. How horrible I feel afterwards. But I don't really care about afterwards anymore. I just want the now to be a little less. To make it more bearable. And that's why I am here today. To remind myself that it's not worth it.”

After, Eames wanted to get out as soon as possible. He didn't even stop at the snack station. “Where do you need to go?”, Mal’s doppelganger asked.  
Eames shrugged. He'd spent all of his words for that day.  
“Mind if I walked with you?”  
He shrugged again.  
At first, they walked in silence, until she said: “You know, I noticed you staring.”  
Usually, Eames probably would have cleared the air, explained to her that she reminded him of an old friend. Now, he gave no answer beyond a shrug.  
“At first I thought you were checking me out, but that's not really it, isn't it?”  
Her voice was different from Mal’s. There was no hint of a French accent.  
“You looked at me like I was a ghost.”  
Eames wished she'd stop talking.  
“I remind you of someone you lost, don't I?”  
Even her way of speaking was totally different. Walking beside her, Eames didn't know how he'd ever thought she was similar to Mal.  
“It's pretty rude that you don't even shrug anymore. You know, I wanted to give you my advice on how to deal with the situation. But if you don't want it…”  
This made Eames stop and look at her again. “What do you know about my situation?”  
The raised eyebrow. The small smirk. “Oh, you can talk.” The amused tone of voice.  
Even though she was chubby, short and had red hair and freckles, at that moment, she seemed like Mal’s twin.  
“Listen. What you said in there. It sounded like you're still hung up on him. Talk to him. Ask him why he left you. Then you can finally close that chapter of your life and move on.”  
Eames huffed. “Didn't go well last time.” Or rather, it went a little too well.  
She seemed to read his thoughts, because the raised eyebrow returned. “Make sure it goes well this time. You need this, Eames.”  
He wanted to ask how she knew his name, but then he remembered that he should know hers too.  
“What was your name again?”, he asked.  
“I'm Anna. Nice to meet you.”  
They shook hands and Eames felt like maybe, Anna had broken through his bubble. At least a little.

He wrote Arthur a letter. Poured his heart into it. Then he read it after it was finished and tore it to shreds. The next letter was as honest as the first one, but not as raw. Not as open. Even though it was better, Eames was still mortified at the thought of Arthur reading it. Five drafts later, he had a letter that read:  
“Arthur.  
I know I could have called, I know I could have come over. But I also know that your voice still makes my heart beat faster and sometimes my knees go weak. When I look at you, I forget what I wanted to say, because the past becomes the present and all I want is to hold you. But this has to be said.  
You hurt me, Arthur. Badly. I'm still recovering from the scars you left. ‘Still sober, I see’, was the first thing you said to me that opening night. No. Not still. Again. Sober again. Of course, it's not all your fault. But it is, a little. You left me. At first, I thought you'd come back, maybe call. After a week, I grew anxious. I tried calling you, once, but only reached your voicemail. After two weeks, I wanted to text you, but then I remembered all the things you'd said. I have my pride, Arthur, and I can't just throw it away just because I have feelings for you. That's my excuse. What's yours?  
This letter is an attempt to finally leave the past behind. Finally leave you behind. I can't have your shadow hanging over me anymore.  
Eames.”  
It was harsh, but not too harsh. And most importantly, it wasn't too sappy. After he'd sent it, Eames felt relieved. Anna had actually given him good advice.

The wait for Arthur’s response wasn't as torturous as Eames would have thought. He was strangely calm. He had said what he'd wanted to say. Not much more left to do. It was exactly a week. Eames did his shows, Yussuf and Lisa left him mostly alone. He went to the meeting again, because even though he was calmer now, more collected, it was still itching under his skin. Anna was there too and he thanked her. They exchanged numbers. Eames was the one who asked.  
The next day, he had a letter with a university stamp on it.  
“Dearest Eames”, it said.  
“I am sorry. I am sorry for reappearing in your life without warning, I am sorry for leaving you. I am sorry for saying acting is somehow worth less than a career in the academics. It's not. I am sorry for abandoning you. You asked me what my excuse is? Well, a friend needed me. And then it was pride. And then fear. Eames, I regret nothing more than leaving you without a word. You deserve the world and I gave you nothing. I would love to meet for a coffee, in a public space. That way, I could explain myself to you. I don't expect your forgiveness. You don't owe me anything.  
Sincerely,  
Arthur.”  
Eames didn't know what he felt. Didn't know what to do. So he called Anna. She came over and they talked about it and Eames couldn't help but cry of relief to finally have someone to talk to. She just hugged him and said he'd do the same, because that's what friends were for.

Arthur had shaved his beard but still wore the glasses. On the table in front of him, there was a half eaten cupcake and a mug of tea, probably. Arthur didn't drink coffee unless he absolutely needed to. Eames almost hadn't come, part of him spitefully thinking it would serve Arthur right to be stood up, part of him afraid of what he might feel upon seeing him again, the man he’d loved for half his life.  
This time, Eames wasn't as overwhelmed as the last two times. He was prepared for the wave of conflicting emotions washing over him and clung to the ones he thought most appropriate for the occasion. Hurt and confusion.  
“I almost thought you wouldn't come”, Arthur said as Eames was sitting down. “As a sort of payback.”  
He was smiling at him, not his waiter smile, but his small Arthur smile he used for inside jokes with friends. Except for the glasses, he looked so much like the Arthur Eames had fallen in love with. Eames was tempted to smile back, to respond to the slight jab with a flirtatious one-liner. Instead, he kept a straight face. He was on a mission. “I need an explanation.”  
Arthur sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Maybe you should order first?”, he said.  
Arthur was stalling. They were both aware he was stalling, but Eames played along with it and got himself a frappucino with caramel syrup just because he knew how much Arthur despised both for inexplicable reasons. Arthur crunched his nose at his order, but didn't say anything, even after the waiter had left. Apparently, the cold attitude Eames displayed was keeping him from even trying to banter. Good.  
Arthur sighed again. Then he said: “This is very difficult for me to talk about, because those months are the most regret-filled months of my life. Not when we were together, that was wonderful. But I do regret how I handled things with you. And I regret how I handled things with Dom.”  
Eames frowned, but let Arthur talk on.  
“I know he wouldn't have given me room to grieve Mal as I needed to, I know he was an adult and not my responsibility. But he was still my friend - my best friend even, since I hadn't talked to you for a year. He needed me. And I abandoned him.”  
Eames wanted to object, but Arthur slightly raised his hand.  
“Don't say anything, I did. I wasn't there for a friend in need. And I almost paid a heavy price.”  
Arthur took a deep breath and held his teacup tighter.  
“Eames, the day we fought, Dom tried to kill himself.”  
From all the things Eames had expected to hear, this was not one of them.  
“But the children…”  
“He’d written that his children would be better off with happy grandparents than with a miserable father who was only half a person, who would never be happy again.”  
“Oh.”  
Eames was truly at loss for words. His mind was spinning. In a way, this made sense.  
“After our fight, after you stormed out, Stephen called. He was panicking, said he’d found Dom in his bed, overdosed on pills. Told me to come to the hospital. I packed all my stuff and left. When I was in the car, I thought I should have left a note for you, but then I just drove. Dom survived, as you know. But I had to be there for him, Eames. Had to support him. I helped him every step of the way. Because even though everyone said it was not my fault, I still felt like it was.”  
“What about now?”, Eames asked calmly. “Do you still feel like it was your fault?”  
Arthur just sighed.  
“Arthur, you…”  
“I know, I know. I am not responsible for the actions of those around me. Dom could have gotten help from anyone. His well-being is not more important than mine. I’ve been through some therapy, Eames. It helped a lot. But part of me will always feel responsible, at least a little.”  
Eames finished his drink. Then he said: “Don’t feel responsible for what I did after you left.”  
“Aren’t I though? You said it yourself in your letter. It is my fault, a little. I just turned up in your life, expected you to comfort me and then I just leave without a word. Yes, I had a good reason, but I could have texted you. Could have called you. Instead, I just disappear from your life, leave a hole. It’s no wonder you relapsed.”  
Arthur was right and that bothered Eames.  
“Look, Eames. What I said in my letter is true. I don’t expect your forgiveness. And I don’t expect you to let me back into your life. I just wanted to give you the whole story.”  
Eames nodded. He was still not sure what to make of all this new information.  
“I do still love you and I would be happy if we could try again, properly this time. Without bottled up regrets. Maybe not moving together straight away. But if you don’t want to, I understand that. The past is in the past. This is your chance to move forward.”  
“Thank you, Arthur”, Eames said, his voice hoarse. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”  
Arthur nodded, paid for his tea at the counter and left.

Eames was incredibly grateful he’d met Anna. He told her as much.  
“Thanks for the compliment. Honestly, one day I’ll be the one in crisis and you’ll be the one listening, so we’re good. But anyway, do you want to try again with your old flame?”  
Eames sighed. “That’s the thing. Arthur is more than just any old flame. He’s my first love. I pined after him for years, Anna. Then we get together, have one month of bliss and it all goes up in flames.”  
“Yeah, I know. You told me.”  
They were sitting in the kitchen, Eames at the table and Anna on the counter. For some reason, she didn’t like chairs.  
“For all these years, I’ve been blaming him, part of me hating him for leaving me. But now that I know the reason, I just can’t hate him anymore.”  
Anna clicked her tongue. “He still could have called. Or texted. I mean, he had been an elitist prick.”  
“I know he said the thing that went too far, but I’d said some pretty hurtful stuff before that too. Also, it’s not his fault we never talked about the fight that ended our friendship.”  
“I’m still not sure on the history there”, Anna said with her mouth full. “You’re an incredible cook by the way. If acting doesn’t work out, I know a guy who’d hire you.”  
Eames smiled. “Thanks, but I’ve got a secure job for at least two more months. And after that, I might return to movies, who knows.”  
He’d made them a broccoli stir-fry. They had cooked together, Anna doing the chopping and Eames doing almost everything else. He didn’t know how he always managed to pick friends who couldn’t cook.  
“On our history, it’s complicated, but I’ll stick to the basics. As you know, we all met while we were undergrad students, then I did a post-grad in philosophy, Arthur in mathematics and Cobb and Mal in architecture. We were a team, the four of us, despite going in different directions. Luckily, or not so luckily, all of us got accepted at the same university for a Ph.D. program. Arthur and Dom thrived, Mal and I didn’t. In the end, I figured out that I didn’t want to have an academic career and decided to pursue acting instead. My friends didn’t take it well, we parted ways and when we met again a year later, Mal was dead.”  
This time, Anna finished her food before talking: “The question is, do you want them in your life? Arthur and that Cobb guy. Because it seems like they’re a package deal.”  
Eames smiled fondly. “They are.”  
“See, and your smile just now tells me you’d gladly take that deal.”  
She was right. Eames wanted Cobb and Arthur in his life. Even though by now the time they hadn’t been in it exceeded the time they had been, it still felt wrong to leave them out.

Eames didn’t make the decision right away. Instead, he thought it over, again and again. If he let Arthur back into his life, it would have to be forever. He couldn’t lose him a third time. Now that there was the distinct possibility to have him back, to be together again, Eames felt torn. On the one hand, he still loved Arthur. And now that he knew the reason for Arthur leaving him all these years ago, Eames forgave him. On the other hand, Arthur had changed. Eames had changed. What if they didn’t fit into each other’s lives anymore? What if they were incompatible and Eames was only in love with the memory of a man who no longer existed?  
Anna implored him not to wait too long and honestly, Eames didn’t want to. But he also didn’t want to make a rash decision that could throw his whole life out of order.  
“It’s easy”, Anna said at their Wednesday dinner two weeks later. They’d decided to make a thing out of it, Eames cooked and then they talked. Even though Eames tried to get out of talking about Arthur, Anna always came back to him. “Either you give love another chance or you don’t.”  
Even though Eames argued, that statement stuck with him and lead him to finally call Arthur one month after their talk.  
“Hello?”  
“Hi.”  
“Eames! I’m glad you called.”  
“What do you say we give it another go?”  
“I’d be delighted.”

They had their first proper date in July. An art exhibition with dinner at a restaurant after. “As much as I’d love to cook for you, darling, I feel like it’s too early in the relationship to invite you to my home”, Eames had said.  
Arthur still loved talking about art. During their walk through the exhibition, he told Eames a little about every painting he recognised. He spent almost half an hour standing in front of a Kossoff painting. That was where Eames took his hand. Arthur smiled at him shyly.  
The restaurant had everything Anna had promised: A cozy atmosphere, a friendly staff and delicious food.  
“How do you know this place?”, Arthur asked. “The food is amazing.”  
“I’m surprised you can even recognise amazing food, considering you mostly eat garbage. Or has that changed?”  
Arthur scoffed. “I will have you know that Dom cooks a full meal for me and his children at least twice a week.” Then he grinned. “But it has nothing on your cooking or on this. So, how did you find it?”  
“A friend recommended it. You’d like her. The first time I met her, she reminded me of Mal.”  
“Can’t be that similar if the two of you are friends.”  
“Now now, love! Mal and I were friends. Her whole ‘if you hurt Arthur I will end you’ schtick got a little in the way of it, but we could always count on each other.”  
Later, Arthur explained that he'd moved in with Cobb one month after the suicide attempt. Somehow, he'd stuck around.  
They talked a lot during dinner, about their past, their future and everything in-between. Eames discovered that he had been right: The Arthur he had loved didn't exist anymore. There were still traces of him left, but that was all. One thing Eames had not thought of, however, was that he could learn to love this newer version of Arthur just as much as he'd loved the old one.

At his car, Arthur said: "You know, our last relationship also started in July."  
"I hope this one will last longer than four weeks, darling", Eames laughed.  
Arthur gave him a small peck on the cheek. "I am confident it will."

It did.

**Author's Note:**

> So. This is it. I know I said February, but the ending really gave me trouble. I know the journey was longer than the actual happy ending, but I hope you enjoyed the story nevertheless. And who knows, maybe inspiration strikes again and I'll write a third part, a kind of epilogue.  
> I finished this at 2 am, so I am sorry for any mistakes. If you find some, point them out in the comments so I can fix them! Even if you don't find any, comments are always appreciated. You can also come say hi on [tumblr](http://writtelings.tumblr.com/)


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